all kinds of sunshine–

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They come across the town by lanternlight. The moon, who should be full, has retired to her chambers and drawn the curtains. Madigan draws the wagon to a stuttering halt, whispering soothing nothings to the horse. Its eyes show white even in the darkness, but it knows better than to bolt. It might even last him until the next town.

The hand-carved sign says Deliverance. The nerve-wracked huddle of shops and homes says something else. The snake stirs lazily in Madigan's pack, and he smiles at the sleeping town. Tomorrow morning, the good folks of Deliverance will see the travelling medicine show wagon. Tomorrow night, they'll get to see Madigan and His Medical Marvels.

These are the prompts I'm using for this year! Anyone who wants to is free to use them as well. Plain text version under the cut:

Pliers: billiards butch

The celebrations are, in theory, about Lip. Which means they have to make a public appearance - increasingly rare, these days, which only makes it more important to make it count. All the charm, all the grace, the closest thing to a show of force the kingdom can muster. Look, the heirs are still alive! There's singing, dancing, flowers, wine.

Lip has made a slight error of judgement on the wine. Despite their best attempts at calculation, they've ended up a glass or two past the amount that would have best helped them handle the crowd. They think they're doing a good-enough job of hiding it.

"Oh, shit!" Lip kisses the tomato on the forehead, then does the same to Shaz. "How'd you know I love charred tomatoes?"

Theoretically, xe could do the same thing with clothes, but xe usually doesn't. No matter what form xe takes, xe can't hide the scars. If xe shaped xir clothing as part of xir form, you'd see the lashes on the back of xir jacket. The manacle lines interrupting the cuffs of xir shirt, the shackles burned into the glossy leather of xir boots. The old bridle scoring xir cravat.